Not Quite My Mirror Image
by Eris Dea Disaccordo
Summary: Rated M, okay? Risa. Yes, she'd been on Risa for shore leave. One minute she was stepping into an old antiques shop to look for a birthday gift for Uhura, the next she was being thrown down to the ground for bumping into him.
1. Chapter 1

**Not Quite My Mirror Image  
><strong>_**by Eris**_

* * *

><p>"<em>What are we gonna call him?<em>"  
>– George Kirk<p>

* * *

><p>"Tell me your name."<p>

Her name.

Fuck. What's her name? Names are important, she knows.

Goddamn it but she doesn't remember what her name is.

"Can' r'member."

It pisses her off that her brain's not working properly, because she can remember how to speak and count in all the known Federation languages (and even in fucking Klingon, for fuck's sake!) and she can remember what the Federation is and why not a lot of people speak Klingon and she knows how to do a lot of things that she **knows** not many people know how to do, but throughout all that clutter in her head, she can't fucking remember Her Own Fucking Name!

"Okay," that oddly-sexy male voice says.

Something—_hands, feels human, humanoid?_ she wonders—flattened themselves on her back, and they move over her skin, pressing comforting circles.

It's only then that she realizes she'd been shifting over his lap in agitation. Through the atrocious tastes and smells and feelings that suddenly bombard her, she blushes (fucking **blushes**) when she feels Humanoid Male Companion's involuntary reaction to her unconscious wriggling. He doesn't seem bothered by it though. In fact—

"No…" she breathes sharply when his hands gripped her hips and bucked his body into hers. Her mind registers then that she's got her legs wrapped around him, feels her damp underwear slide over her moist skin at his motions, and she whimpers and flinches when something painfully solid catches on the now-flimsy fabric and flicks roughly at the sensitive bud at the apex of her thighs.

"Shh," his lips find a new patch of skin on her chest (her bare, not-clothed-like-her-back-is chest and _what the fuck happened to her dress?_) and his tongue traced along the edge of her mercifully still-there bra, "I'll be gentle this time."

_I'll be gentle this time._

The sentence wasn't so much a key than it was an old-fashioned wrecking ball. It bashed in the door that separated her from her memories and let it all gush out like water from a busted dam.

Her name is Jordan T. Kirk. Daughter of George Kirk, a Federation hero because he became the father she never knew, and Winona Kirk, deadbeat mother who didn't even give Jo a chance to defend herself against her stepfather's version of her apparent delinquency and shipped her off to Tarsus IV for rehabilitation. She struggled and starved and survived past Tarsus IV, only to fall into the hands of her Uncle Frank, who must've been really angry that he lost his punching bag because he often used her as a replacement before he realized he could practice his Jack the Rapist persona on her.

Blood was on her hands. No, scratch that. She **bathed** it in, from her father to her lost kids on Tarsus IV to her psychopathic uncle. (To Romulans from the future.)

She's accepted into Starfleet anyway. Chris recruited her. Admiral Christopher Pike. Her mentor and the only father-figure she has in her life. He's probably out of his mind with worry by now. He hates it when she doesn't check in and tell him the What's Up about his 'baby.'

The USS Enterprise. Starfleet's most prized flagship. Jo Kirk is captain of the Enterprise, and her crew, who she knows respects her now that she saved Earth (and also secretly loves her a-fucking-lot because she's too damn cute not to love), must be turning the universe upside down and inside out looking for her. Bones would be getting his bitch on, nagging people to _keep fucking going and don't you fucking dare stop until you find her or I'll hypo your ass until you can't sit down for fucking __**years**_. Spock would be all Vulcan stoic on the outside and Human worried on the inside, that brilliant mind of his thinking and going through possible scenarios and figuring it all out just in time to save her. Pavel would calculate how to save her and be all enthusiastic about it, bright-eyed and cute-curls excited as he puts the beat down on Bones' cynicism and Spock backs him up on his telemetry. Sulu would drive them all to the ends of the universe and come down with the landing party because he's got this not-so-secret crush on her, and he'll whip out his sword and slice and dice everyone who gets in his way, Ninja-Fencing Style. Scotty would beam them all down and keep it all together long enough to beam them back up before they all die horrible deaths (because he's got amazing timing, that Scotty). And Uhura…well, she would pick a language (perhaps Klingon, because the way Klingon cuss words roll off the tongue is absolutely delightful) and bitch a bit less than Bones would, but some sort of ass-smackery is sure to occur.

Dedicated people, her crew.

"Eyes on me." She flinched expectantly, confused when the pain didn't come, and he chuckles in her ear, clearly enjoying himself. "I told you I'd be gentle. I meant it. Your fragile body can't take much more electrocution. You'd die, and I haven't even gotten to the best part yet."

The words bring back the harsh memories of her captivity, of knives slicing into her stomach before being healed over to start 'fresh,' of a hot mouth sucking and blunt teeth biting at her most intimate places, of promised lies and brutally honest touches that just fucked with her mind and body. The _human _male holding her now has been her only companion, but no one else had to come in and 'visit' her for her to know that he's the most dangerous person she's ever met, in every way that matters.

She shudders, her body feeling the ghost of his tortures sizzle under her skin, and it's a horrifying realization that she's gotten used to the pain-pleasure-pain technique he's been etching into her soul.

Hope was a luxury she no longer had, and she can barely remember the last time she wasn't in this darkly-lit room, lying on that god-awful table and seeing only this man—no, this **monster**.

Risa. Yes, she'd been on Risa for shore leave. One minute she was stepping into an old antiques shop to look for a birthday gift for Uhura, the next she was being thrown down to the ground for bumping into **him**.

Jim Kirk. _Captain James T. Kirk_. An alternate reality version of her, where she'd been born male.

And evil.

She fully blames the time-travelling Romulans for her alternate self's evilness.

"Tell me your name."

She closed her eyes and thinks, _Never_. "Can' r'member." Thank god she really hadn't remembered earlier. Once she'd heard who he was and seen how corrupt he'd become, she'd refused to tell him anything.

In retrospect, that was probably why he broke out the barbaric toys and started trying his hand at eating her alive in the extremely enthusiastic effort of breaking her.

And that was _before _he tried his hand at cooking her with electricity.

She hears him sigh and she's abruptly released from his embrace. The floor greets her ass with a hard smack, and she feels the soft flutter of her torn dress fall open around her like some cliché scene from a holo-movie. It probably would've worked better if she'd landed on a bed and hadn't just been manhandled by a lunatic.

"Tell me your name."

His painful grip on her leg surprises her enough that the whimper escaping her is genuine. "I don' know."

He paused, and she peeks up at him, sees him looking at the tinted glass at one of the walls of this dark room. She hates herself for flinching when he looks back at her.

"My doctor says I used too much electricity last time." He's pouting, and it would've looked normal on him if she hadn't known how **twisted** he really was. "Claims I could've scrambled your brain."

Bones. Good ole Bones. He's like Superman—always off saving Lois Lane.

…Jo Kirk hates Lois Lane.

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda," she drawls, meeting his delighted gaze. "I'm made…of strong'r stuff."

Jim Kirk's smile is all kinds of pleased and wicked.

"Excellent."

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note<span>_

_No idea where this came from. Muse, what is this? A new fic, or a one shot that will never evolve? (Like Pikachu. Haha! …oh god, I'm sorry. My brother watches Pokemon and it popped into my head without any warning! Must. Get. Rid. Of. Pokemon. In. House.)_

_Hope y'all liked it anway! _

_Review? _

_xoxo,  
><em>_~E_


	2. Chapter 2

**Not Quite My Mirror Image  
><strong>_**by Eris**_

* * *

><p>"<em>Unbelievable.<em>"  
>– Leonard McCoy<p>

* * *

><p>He's two-hundred and thirty-nine years old. After Olduvai, he thought he's seen everything that can happen in the world.<p>

And then the Vulcans came.

Then the Tellerites.

After that, he wasn't surprised too often until he discovered he could still procreate. (After two hundred years, **yes**, that discovery was **indeed** a surprise.) Joanna is, admittedly, one of his few weaknesses, which is why he'd immediately killed Jocelyn after she threatened to divorce him and take her away.

Bitch.

Which brings him to James Tiberius Kirk. The other weakness he had.

It wasn't because Jim was particularly handsome. There were other more good-looking men and women he was known to appreciate every now and then.

It wasn't because Jim was incredibly brilliant either. There were smarter men and women out there, and not all of them were as egotistical and obnoxious as Jim.

It wasn't because Jim was ruthlessly cruel. He'd met far more bloodthirsty men and women in the past too.

He could make a fucking list of what hadn't drawn him to Jim fucking Kirk, but there was the one thing that did—Jim was **nothing** he'd ever encountered before. You meet a lot of people over two hundred years, and it might surprise others to know that most of them actually **were** the same.

But Jim was **different**. It might be because he wasn't exactly born like everyone else (father dying in space minutes after he was born and space radiation wasn't the ideal situation when bringing life into the universe, was it?) or raised like a normal kid (because let's face it—normal kids don't drive cars off cliffs or kill and fuck their way to survive the aftereffects of genocide before they're even fourteen) or fought and fucked away his teenage years (picking up many, **many **skills along the way that he now put to good, excellent, often astonishing uses).

In any case, he liked Jim, and like Joanna, he wanted to **keep** Jim.

Forever.

And with that, he's brought back to the fact that even after all he's been through, he thought he knew he's seen everything that can happen in the known universe.

He wants to kill the girl for bursting that particular happy bubble of his.

For two weeks, he's watched Jim put the most exquisite of touches on her skin—painting it red with **his** special knives and then healing them over with **his **dermal regenerator. He wasn't particularly possessive about material objects, but dammit, Jim could get his own kit if he wanted to torture someone.

(He couldn't **really **complain though—Jim working that brilliant brand of pain on the girl like she was a whore who couldn't get enough of orgasms was a surprisingly incredible turn-on for him. More often than not, watching Jim play with his new toy had him with his hand around his dick mid-way through the three-hour session Jim had specially reserved for her.)

But it wasn't about the tools or the fact that Jim spent three out of his ten hours of spare time with the girl.

It was the girl herself that bugged him.

She had long, curling brown hair—like Joanna's, but lighter. Her nose was more delicate, her eyebrows thinner, eyelashes thicker and longer, and her eyes were a vivid shade of green. Her breasts were spectacular, her stomach was lean and smooth, her hips curved her body into a shape that was just right, and her legs were long and magnificent.

But despite the utterly delicate female body she sported, the girl smelled **exactly** like Jim.

She spoke **exactly** like Jim.

She smirked** exactly **like Jim.

She even cried out and shuddered and moaned and writhed **exactly** like James Tiberius Kirk.

And despite the prominent differences on their faces, their eyebrows had the same arch, their foreheads were the same length, their faces had the same angles, and their lips curved the same way.

Two hundred years, and he thought he'd never be surprised again.

Jim Kirk—both of them—just **had** to prove him wrong.

* * *

><p>Jim and Joanna were asleep. He slipped a slow-acting sedative into their drinks that would last five hours at least, but with Jim doing the improbable on a regular basis, he gives himself three hours before the man wakes up from his refreshing nap.<p>

Three hours was enough time to get the answers he needed.

"Hello, Captain Kirk." The girl, already stiffen with tension the moment he walked through the door, pales. Considering her already ashen pallor, she looks like she had just been sentenced to death by airlock-ejection. "I'm guessing you already know who I am."

"Bones." He likes that she didn't bother with denial, and he's absolutely thrilled at the Jim-Kirk fire he could see in her defiant eyes. "Where's Jim?"

"Sleeping." He trails the tips of his fingers reverently over her broken leg, smirking when she flinched away from the pain. "You understand that I can't repair your body. Jim doesn't want to share his new toy with anyone, you see, so I'm technically not allowed to be here."

"I don't mind," she pants, green orbs sparking with a defiance that amused him. "That means you don't get to make any injuries either."

Smart girl.

Then again, this **is** a female version of Jim Kirk he was talking to.

"I just want to talk."

"Funny, that's what Jim said before he stabbed into my appendix and removed it for me."

He smiles at the memory. "Don't worry," he says, "I was guiding him through it. And if it makes you feel any better," he adds, "I scolded him about stabbing you there in the first place."

Because even though he knows nothing else about her, he'd known she was Jim Kirk, and Jim Kirk was **always** his to protect.

Well, from death, anyway. Otherwise, Jim would never have been able to lay his hands on her—captain or no—and he would never do much of the things he himself did to Jim when he was feeling particularly playful in bed.

"My stomach thanks you for your help," she deadpans, "Now what do you want?"

"Your name."

She actually dares to cock an eyebrow at him, and even with the black eye, the broken collar bone, the dried blood on her breast and the femur sticking out of her thigh, she looks ridiculously sexy in a manner that only Jim Kirk could pull off.

If nothing else proves who she was, then that look would definitely convince him.

"You already have it."

He shakes his head and tsks at her. "I know you're _a_ Captain Kirk," he corrects her. "But I want to know _your_ name."

"No."

His hand twitches, wishing he could squeeze down on her thigh and wring his sudden frustration out on her slim, naked body until she screamed her name for everyone to hear.

Instead, he reels in his impatience (the trait Jim loves most in him) and brushes his knuckles lightly over her unmarked cheek.

"I won't tell Jim if you don't want me to," he promises, and her subsequent teeth-gritting tells him she knows what that means for her.

Telling Jim would end her torture, but it would give him want he wanted from her.

Not telling Jim would keep the torture coming.

He so enjoyed the conflict that flitted over her body. (Because while Jim Kirk was a master at hiding his emotions on his face, his body always, **always** gave him away.)

"No, Bones." She looks up at him with pleading eyes. "Bones, please. I need to get back to my crew."

He tilts his head at her, wonders many things in that instance. "Are we together in your world?"

"Are we together here?" she counters.

"Yes."

She looks surprised. "Huh," she says lightly. "I never would've guessed."

"So we're not together then."

"No," she admits easily enough. "I didn't want to scare you away."

Interesting.

**Very **interesting.

"I'm going to kiss you."

"What?" is all she manages to get out before he presses his lips to hers, cataloguing the taste of her on his tongue. Her flavor was just like her scent, an odd swirl of humanity mixed with cinnamon and apples.

Definitely a Jim Kirk.

He's only slightly surprised that she returns his kiss, almost eagerly too. He finds himself falling into it, closing his eyes and enjoying the slide of her tongue over his lip before her lips sucked at him. She kissed just like Jim too, and it was easy to forget that she was female, that she wasn't **his** Jim.

It's the whisper of his name—breathless and full of disbelieving adoration—that returns him to his senses.

He hums, taking in the sight of her glazed eyes, swollen lips and the pink flush on her skin. She looked beautiful, even with the black eye.

He presses a kiss to her injured cheek lightly and she sighs, her good hand moving up his arm to grasp his shoulder. He waits for her to use him as leverage to get up, to try and escape, but all she does is turn her head to press a kiss to his jaw.

How odd—apparently this Jim Kirk wasn't as self-preserving as his Jim.

"Jo."

He leans back slightly to look at her. She's biting her lip and looking studiously away from him, and he understands after a moment that "Jo" is her name.

**Very** interesting. Apparently, women with the starting letters of J and O starred prominently in his life in the other world.

"Well, Jo Kirk," he smiles, pleased that it had barely taken him ten minutes to get what he wanted. "I hope you don't make it as easy for Jim to get your name."

She looks like she can't decide whether she appreciates the compliment about her stubbornness or be outraged that he wants her to suffer more under Jim's hand. He kisses her again just because he can, then nips at her bottom lip before moving away from her.

"Bastard," she calls, just as the door closes, and he hates her again for maintaining the status quo between him and Jim.

Because Jim Kirk always got the last word in.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note<span>_

_This one crept up on me. But it's Bones, and better still, it's Reaper!Bones, so hell, Reaper!Bones, you can creep up on me anytime! _

_Hope y'all enjoyed this one!_

_xoxo,  
><em>_~E_


	3. Chapter 3

**Not Quite My Mirror Image  
><strong>_**by Eris**_

* * *

><p>"<em>Let's call him Jim.<em>"  
>– George Kirk<p>

* * *

><p>"Killing her would be a waste."<p>

He's a little surprised at Bones' input. Usually, his Chief Medical Officer was the first to support his decision to terminate any life.

On second thought, Bones was usually the one doing the dirty work, and while Bones made an art out of torture (there is no sweeter word to describe what he does), it apparently sucked all the fun out of him and turned him into a tired, cranky and all around bastard to everyone else, even Jim. On days like those, sex felt more like a chore to Bones, which Did Not Please Jim At All.

However, taking into account the enthusiastically not-too-rough-just-right-enough-to-be-mind-blowing fucking he'd been privy to for the past three weeks (which not-so-coincidentally coincided with his pretty new plaything's appearance), Jim could only therefore conclude that Bones watching him torture people was—although it defeated his secondary contribution to Jim's beautifully malevolent crew—much more preferable than him watching Bones torture people.

The sex was _that_ fantastic.

Still, Admiral Chris Pike had given him orders—orders that he could not ignore or change.

Thus his ship-wide announcement of the girl's imminent death.

"Hiding her someplace on the ship would only invite trouble," he points out. "And with the amount of security coming onboard for the Emperor's impromptu vacation," at this Jim wrinkles his nose in distaste, "I can't risk the Enterprise being taken away from me for keeping a prisoner alive unnecessarily."

"That's Pike talking," Bones says almost petulantly. "The Jim Kirk I know would twist Pike by the balls and never stop until he gets what he wants."

Damn it. Sonovabitch knew _exactly_ what buttons to push, didn't he?

Jim sighs, sitting up and reaching for the cigarette case on his bedside table. Bones stops him and pulls the case out of reach.

"Give it, Bones."

Bones stares him down. "You've changed since that woman got here." His tone makes it clear that the change is not a welcome one. "You're…_softer_."

…well, fuck. If Bones had noticed it and was bringing it up, then there was a big probability that the others were starting to notice as well.

"Let me take a turn with her, see if I can't wring a few admissions out of her."

The idea of letting Bones touch her sent a jolt of utter _panic_ through his veins. "No." Absolutely not. Over his goddamn fucking b—

Sonovabitch.

Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.

"Why not?" Despite the question, Bones gives him a knowing look, and it pisses him off (now, of all times) that the man knows him so well.

"I don't know."

His doctor isn't pleased with that answer. "Bullshit. If I know, then you most definitely already know." Bones' mouth curls downward. "Jim, I _know_ who the fuck she is, and so do you. What I can't figure out is why you insist on playing silly name games with her."

Here, Jim smirks, even though he wants to frown and strap Bones down and rip into his skin to find out how he 'knows' who the girl is.

God-fucking-dammit, if he hadn't noticed when **Bones** had known, then he really was losing his touch.

"Her limits are my limits."

"Jesus, kid. You're testing _yourself?_" Bones looks vaguely disturbed, which was odd considering who they were and that they've talked about pushing people to their limits before, torture-wise. "No, that can't be just it," he muses. "If you really wanted to know her limits, you would've put _me_ in that room with her."

Suddenly, Bones' face sharpens with realization, and his hazel-green eyes snap to Jim, his lips quirking into a disbelieving smile.

"You're insane."

Jim wonders if Bones really did know what he was up to. "I prefer the term 'eccentric genius', really."

"Jesus, Jim. How do you know you even _can_ convert her?" For all his disdain for the idea, Bones looks suitably impressed with his latest 'insane' scheme.

"Because I know my limits." Jim smirks at Bones and snatches the cigarette case from his surprise-loosened grip. "There's only so much I can take before I snap, you know. I _am_ still human."

Bones suddenly smirks back, looking oddly, immensely pleased. "So you _don't_ intend to kill her."

Jim lights the cigarette and takes a drag, exhaling it in a long sigh. "Let's put it this way," he says. "I'm not up to redefining 'murder-suicide'."

Bones throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note<span>_

_I couldn't resist writing out Evil!Jim's side of the story _

_Hope y'all liked it!  
><em>_~E_


	4. Chapter 4

**Not Quite My Mirror Image  
><strong>_**by Eris**_

* * *

><p>No one is more surprised than Jim Kirk when she escapes. He thought he knew all his tricks, but he should've known his luck and ability to improvise was potently present in her too. Why he thought he could contain himself (herself, themselves, what <strong>was<strong> the proper way to address his female self?) was beyond him.

Jim Kirk did not believe in no-win scenarios, after all.

"Should we follow her to Risa, Captain?" Spock asks.

"No. Hail the shuttlecraft, Uhura."

Uhura obeys the command immediately, knows that this wasn't the time to do things in her usual, slutty manner. The other Captain Kirk answers the hail, smug triumph etched on her battered face.

"You rang, Captain Kirk?" she smirks.

Jim spreads his arms out, pouting at her insolently. "I just wanted to know your name," he tells her petulantly, sounding almost like his almost-daughter.

"You should've bought me a drink," she deadpans. "I might've been more receptive then."

"But where's the fun in that?"

She rolls her eyes and winces, putting a hand to her still-purple cheek. "I've told you countless times that you're insane. Has it sunken in yet?"

Jim is promptly amused. "Has it?" he counters, and her face darkens, any trace of lightness disappearing from her face.

"You knew," she says. "You knew who I was and you still did this to me. Why?"

"I told you," he repeats in a long suffering tone, "I wanted to know your name."

Her face twists into a beautiful snarl, and she cuts the connection instantly. Jim feels insulted and has Uhura try again.

"She's not answering our hails, Captain," Uhura reports, sounding enraged, "and she's blocked my program to bully my way into her frequency. How did she do that?"

Jim's kinda proud of himself (herself, ah fuck it, **whatever!**) for pissing Uhura off in such a manner.

"Keptain, she haz manipulated the shuttle's drive," Chekov announces, shocked. "She haz initiated varp core capabilities!"

Shuttlecrafts with warp capabilities was impossible to do because of the thinner casing of the vessel compared to starships and transport ships, rendering dilithium supplies at an impossible minimum. That and without a Stellar Cartography team, going warp was incredibly risky, what with possibly banging right into another ship, moon, planet or star mid-warp.

Again, no one is more shocked (and delighted) at her daredevil tendencies than Jim.

"Leave her," he decides. "We know where she's going anyway. We can catch up with her later."

**Everyone** questions the decision, but since each member of his bridge crew had high levels of self-preservation, nobody gives voice to it.

Jim settles back into his chair, doing his best to look forward to more planetary conquests and forcing away the niggling sense of wrongness that's been blossoming in him since his other self's arrival.

* * *

><p>When she returns aboard her ship, Bones is the first to greet her, sweeping her into a shocking, toe-curling, breath-taking kiss.<p>

Uhura's next once Bones finds the strength to release her, embracing her tightly while telling her to never scare them like that again.

Sulu hugs her too, silent and not-too-stifling, which she appreciates.

Pavel babbles in Russian how good it was to have her back, simultaneously tattling on Bones, who apparently used him as his hypo-spray pin-cushion while she was away (the accusation needed a thorough investigation, because she couldn't imagine why Bones would pick on poor Pavel, of all people).

Scotty heartily promises her a bottle of his best rotgut once she found the time to tell him of her adventures.

Even Spock is happy to see her in that I'm-a-Vulcan-I-don't-do-emotions way of his.

Later, after Bones had patched her up and she lay in a bio-bed for a six-hour observation period, she closes her eyes and does her best to forget the smell of her own flesh burning and the sparks of electricity dancing over her skin, tries to push away the ghosting touch that did its best to make her scream her secrets for all to hear, attempts to go to sleep and not think of an Enterprise she was never supposed to board.

But even months after her return, even cradled in Bones' warm, slumbering embrace, Jo Kirk's dreams are filled with the image of a man she was never supposed to meet.

* * *

><p>"He's beautiful."<p>

"Of course he's beautiful, darlin'. He looks just like you."

Her baby's eyes are blue. Bones said they're the color of a Georgian sky, and she can't help but wish she'd never heard him say it. (The statement is a reminder of her son's heritage twice over.)

She knows they'll never turn another color.

* * *

><p>"No sign of her here, Captain."<p>

"Keep looking." He looks in the mirror, wonders if the lines on his face match the ones on hers. "She's out there somewhere."

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note<span>_

_Unless you __**really**__ enjoyed it and __**really **__want a follow-up, I don't think I'll be continuing this story anymore. :P_

_Thoughts?_

_xoxo,  
><em>_~E_

_PS: _In case no one got the idea, _Georgian sky is a double entendre for George Kirk and the color of Jim's eyes. _


End file.
